Slumber
by Aziquesa
Summary: When Desmond faints after a session in the Animus, Lucy puts him back into the machine. While he's under he experiences a strange side of the Bleeding Effect. At least that is what he thinks. What will he do when he finds himself in the late 12th century and have to deal with a moderately pissed off Syrian assassin? AU with hints of Desmond x Altaïr. Rating subject to change.
1. 1 - Sickness

**Chapter 1 - Sickness**

He felt disoriented and dizzy as the bright light flickered, and he was pulled back to reality of his time. The glass shield rolled down into the machine and he reached his hand up to rub his pounding temples. He barely heard the grumpy man stating his usual words before leaving the room. He sat up on the cold metal bench and looked around the room. Even though he had spent so much time in this room, it felt unfamiliar. Like he had just woke up after years in a forcefully induced coma. He turned his head to the blonde who was thoroughly inspecting the screen on her laptop, taking in every word and number she saw. He threw a look out the window, and his vision were immediately edged with darkness. He blinked, but it only seemed to get worse.

"Hey Lucy" he started, but wasn't entirely sure how to continue. She turned her attention to him, however, and let out a curious hum for an answer. He saw a flash of worry in her ocean blue eyes, but they soon went back to their calm, regular expression. He paused for a moment, thinking through all of his options, before deciding to tell her the truth.

"I'm not feeling so well. Do you think I could take a day off?". She seemed startled at his question, but cleared her throat and checked something on her laptop before turning her attention back to him.

"I'll ask Dr. Vidic about it, but you and me both know he probably won't allow it" she answered truthfully, and he let out a sigh. The irregular pounding in his ears told him tomorrow was going to be a long day. He carefully slipped down from the bench and was about to get up on his feet, but a sudden nausea caused him to lose balance. He reached for the metal bench behind him and held onto it as the world was spinning around him. He was standing with his feet spread wide and with a lowered stance. His stomach clenched, and he was sure his last meal would be delivered onto the floor any second. His throat burned by the weakly acidic liquid his gut had just burped, but nothing more happened. Time seemed to stop and he raised his head just enough to see a shadow standing a few feet away from him. As his vision was blurry, he couldn't make out any details of the person, other than that they wore some kind of robe and had their arms crossed over their chest.

"Desmond?"

Her voice snapped him out of the gaze and he turned his head to see her standing beside him with a hand on his back. It was then he realized the sweat on his forehead and his heavy panting. The worry in Lucy's face also made him understand that she didn't see the figure in front of them. He threw a look toward the mentioned, but found out they had vanished. _'_ _Just another experience with the Bleeding Effect'_ , he thought and let out a sigh.

"Just..." he started, stretching into an upright standing position, but his voice trailed off as his head exploded in pain and his gut turned outside in. He fell into darkness and cried out loud for the ringing in his ears to stop, but to no use. He felt his heart pound hard in his chest, and a thought slipped through his mind. _'_ _Am I dying?'_

 **...**

The next thing he remembered was voices shouting something inaudible in the distance. They sounded upset, but he realized he didn't really care. He was just relieved that the ringing had finally stopped. He sensed an emptiness within him, but found it soothing. His thoughts were still, and his mind at peace. It was a strange feeling really. Complete and utter peace resided within him, and he let out a sigh of content. Suddenly he was pulled from the emptiness, and his emotions rained down on him all at once. Shock, fear, worry, wonder. It struck him like a thunder bolt, and he tried to jerk upwards, only to find his body unable to move. The voices he had heard were now rapidly closing in, and he heard the obvious panicked tone in the female one. The older male sounded furious and demanding, but he still couldn't make out any words.

The darkness suddenly eased up and he blinked a few times for his eyes to get used to the light. When they did, he found himself in an alley, cornered with boxes and trays of all possible shapes. The voices had silenced completely, and was replaced by the sounds of murmuring from crowds of people further ahead. He scratched the back of his head and looked around, confused. Where was he? Was this some new test Abstergo had come up with? Could it be a dream? He held up his hands to see them trembling and clutched them in front of him. No, this felt too real to be a dream. But it wasn't like in the Animus either. It all felt **_too_** real.

Desmond pushed himself off the ground with the help of his hand, and got to his feet. He realized the headache and nausea had completely vanished, and he was steady as a rock on his feet. It was rather puzzling really. He proceeded towards the end of the alleyway and soon stepped out into the sunlight. Sandy colored square-ish buildings were scattered around him and crowds of people walked between, and in and out of them. To his right were a few merchant stands with men that shouted cheerfully in a foreign language for people to buy their goods. As he studied more of his surroundings, the one question kept popping up in his head. _'_ _Where in the hell am I-?'_ He didn't expect to get an answer to the question and flinched in surprise when he heard Lucy Stillman's voice echoing in his head.

"That's what I've been trying to find out" she stated. Thoughts were beginning to roll in his head, and for a brief second he thought the headache was back again. It disappeared as fast as it came, and he rubbed his temple trying to make things out. The memories from the last hour suddenly flashed by his eyes and he remembered what just had happened. Lucy had talked to him. Didn't he pass out? Then he realized. The way she sounded was exactly like during their daily routine back in Abstergo.

"You put me back into the Animus?!" he blurted out loud, getting a crowd of people to stare at him. Their looks told him they thought he'd gone mad. His cheeks flushed with heat, and he awkwardly turned his back to them and started walking the other way. The thoughts spun in his head and he figured they maybe wasn't that far from the truth. Maybe he was going mad? For the moment he didn't doubt it slightest, judging by the strange situation he'd found himself in.

"I'm sorry Desmond, I panicked. I didn't know what else to do when you collapsed on the floor" she exclaimed, making him question if she was really as reliable as she said. No, of course she was. She had kept that bastard of a scientist from keeping him in the Animus for more than a day. Of course he could trust her. She was probably the reason he was alive at all at this point. Speaking of which... If the Animus posed such a big threat to his sanity, why would she put him in back in, instead of getting him in bed in his room? This, again, made him question her _duty_ to protect his mind from the aftereffects of a prolonged time in the machine.

"Can't you just pull me out?" he asked in a more collected voice. Silenced followed, and he wondered if he had only imagined it all. Mad people could hear voices, right? No, no, no, he couldn't let his mind wander that way. He was not insane. Lucy had put him in so she could keep an eye on him, he reasoned. He was is the Animus, and this was probably just a program that tested the subject's ability to synchronize with their genetic memories. _The subject..._ The thought echoed in his head for what seemed like eternity before he snorted and pushed it away. He was just about to open his mouth to ask if Lucy was still with him, when he heard her quiet and very reluctant response.

"No...".

"What?". What did she mean by that? Of course she could take him out. Wherever strange land and time he had ended up in, she would surely be able to bring him back by a mere press of a magic button. Yea, of course she would bring him back. She surely wouldn't suddenly convert into a templar and leave him to drown in his own insanity. He gulped when he realized that it was actually a possibility. A very _possible_ possibility. A pearl of sweat formed on his forehead and the rays from the rising sun suddenly felt very hot on his skin.

"I can't..." she said. Alarm bells started ringing in his ears and his gut clenched uncomfortably. He lowered his eyebrows, a wrinkle emerging between them, obviously confusing an elderly man crossing his path as he walked down the sand colored streets. He took refuge into a side alley and soon caught himself pacing. He wasn't able to slow down to a halt though. He felt a restless urge to keep moving, even if just walking back and forth. The air suddenly felt heavy and panic was rising within him. His thoughts were getting to him. He couldn't let his mind wander. He had to stay focused. If he didn't keep calm and focused, he would give in to the madness. He forced himself to stop pacing and closed his eyes to try and clear his mind. Why wouldn't she be able to get him out? What was her problem? She surely must understand how suspicious she sounded.

"What do you mean you can't?!" he snapped, suddenly losing his temper while being stuck in this suddenly familiar place. He had a strange feeling he'd been here before. It gave him the creeps. Sent a shiver down his spine. Wherever he was, this place was definitely **_not_** Italy.

"I've tried Desmond!" she cried out back at him. He flinched by she sharpness in her tone, but remained silent, as he didn't find any words to reply with.

"I've tried every code I know, but nothing works!" she continued, and he heard how close she were to break into tears. He immediately felt guilty for barking at her. He pictured the image of her face, tears running down her cheeks, and he felt a sting in his chest. How could he even think about yelling at her? She wouldn't betray him. Of course she wouldn't. She was the nicest person he'd met since-... Well... During his entire life, he realized with a heavy heart. He prayed silently to whoever could listen that Abstergo wouldn't keep him in their modern-day prison for the rest of his boring life. He caught himself wondering if he'd rather let them kill him than staying any longer pinned down in this machine. He couldn't let his mind wander. He had to find a way out of this mess.

"Well..." he wondered silently, thinking about all possible solutions, but to no use. The thoughts rolled back and forth in his head, but he always came back to the one question that had followed him since the moment he opened his eyes. After a quick debate, he figured he'd ask Lucy, since she was the last thing he remembered before slacking off.

"What the fuck happened anyway?"

"That's what we're wondering too, Mr. Miles" came Dr. Vidic's sharp response in his usual scolding voice. So he was there too. He had probably also listened to the entire conversation, judging Desmond quietly, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"Your body seems to be experiencing some kind of shock" he continued, a tint of sparkling interest in the scientist's voice. Desmond lowered his eyebrows at this, making a wrinkle emerge between them again, knowing that the older man was onto something. He wished he could see what was going on, but no matter how hard he focused, all he ever saw was the sand colored wall of the stone building he was resting his forehead against. Why wasn't he allowed to have a phone with him in Abstergo anyway? _'_ _Because you would be able to call someone if it worked'_ , his conscience told him. But what about a tablet then? Surely it wouldn't hurt to entertain his mind with a bit more than staring at a genetic memory all day. His yet again wandering mind was brought back to reality by Lucy's voice.

"The Desmond in this time has fallen into a coma" she said, barely audible, her voice thick as she gave in to the tears. Desmond however didn't notice her tone. The words swirled around in his head, echoing like lost souls trying to find their way into the next world. Did that mean...? No... It couldn't. Or could it? If his body back in his own time had fallen into a coma, and would remain so for weeks to come... Did that mean he, his consciousness, was stuck _here_ during that time? The world started spinning around him and the air yet again felt heavy. He struggled to breathe and stumbled backwards, landing on his behind, supported on his hands. His heart raced in his chest and his eyes flickered in their sockets, desperately searching through the alley. Searching for even the slightest sign that this wasn't true. Just a tiny hint of modern time, and he would know it was all a dream. He gasped for air and grasped his throat as it seemed to rapidly tighten, reducing his access to oxygen by the second. The worried voices of Lucy and Dr. Vidic echoed in his head, but he couldn't hear them. The panic had buried its claws in him, and was dragging him down into a deep darkness.

Desmond fell to his side and arched his neck to see a blur moving towards him. Through the fog clouding his vision, he saw his arm stretch out for the blur, but was quickly ripped away from the scene. He felt as if he was falling, fast and far, before stopping to hover in thin air, looking into a pair of big, red eyes, belonging to no other than fear themself. They cracked a crooked grin at him before devouring him whole, sending him further down into the deep, unknown darkness of hell.

 _ **To be continued...**_


	2. 2 - Locked doors

**Chapter 2 - Locked Doors**

The deafening silence was broken by the sound of distant voices. Three, maybe four people were arguing about something, and Desmond figured it was hell imps betting on who should have the first bite of him. So this was how it felt like when you died. Strange, really. He had always believed there was more after death. Something like an afterlife or perhaps a second chance. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe there was actually just darkness that awaited when life was over. Or he could be dreaming? He tried to remember, but his memories from before the dark had already began to fade and fuse together into a fuzzy mess of obscure images. He had no idea how he got here or if there was a way out. He couldn't remember. All he knew was the deep and empty darkness of whatever hell this was.

Suddenly, the voices grew louder, and with them came a flush of cold that embraced his body. He shuddered by its touch and imagined himself wrap his arms around him. The feeling of falling suddenly stopped, and he became aware that he was lying on his back. So he wasn't actually dead then. At least he didn't think so. Dead people didn't feel if they were lying or sitting, right? The imaginary Desmond flinched when he heard a loud bang, resembling a door getting slammed shut. The voices went silent and there was some rustling before something cold was placed on his forehead. Sweet relief! He almost immediately got all of his senses back and tried to open his eyes. Naturally, his eyelids were heavy after the slumber, and he instinctively reached up with his hand to rub his face. His arm felt like concrete, but his eyes soon adjusted to the light. He was a bit puzzled to see nothing but a sand-colored wall, but then remembered he was lying on the floor, and therefore must be looking up at the ceiling. With an ounce of struggle, he managed to roll over on his side and get up to rest on his elbow. Confusion struck him as he found himself in a room decorated with a few pieces of furniture as well as a candle placed on the floor, barely a feet away from him.

"You're awake"

The voice startled him and he turned his head to see who it came from. Across the room, in front of the door, was a man in white robes and a hood pulled over his head, shadowing most of his face. He wore a thick leather belt decorated with knives, and it had a sheath attached to it. His right arm was protected by a bracer with a delicate pattern engraved in the metal. There was also some straps holding a leather spaulder - also decorated with knives. Desmond's eyes widened when he suddenly recognized the man. Standing before him, very much alive and talking, was the legendary master assassin Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

How was this possible? That man had been dead for centuries. How was he alive? And why was he in this room? More and more questions tumbled around in his head, and he caught himself holding his breath. He saw Altaïr rise his chin, and golden eyes locked with brown, causing his heart to skip a beat. He was done for. He was so, so done for.

 **...**

 _Lucy's P.O.V._

Desmond looked relaxed where he was lying on the metal bench. His chest rose and sank with his steady breathing, and though he was paler than usual, his face wore a peaceful expression. He could just be sleeping. But Lucy knew he wasn't. He wasn't going to wake up if she shook his shoulders or splashed a glass of water in his face. He wouldn't open those deep brown eyes to meet her gaze if she called his name. He wasn't just asleep. He was in a coma, and he wouldn't be able to wake up until his body had recovered from whatever sickness he had caught. She blamed herself for it. At the same time, she knew it wasn't her fault. Though, she wasn't sure how he had gotten sick in the first place. He had been fine yesterday, and just as good this morning. There couldn't have been anything in his food. It was tested both one and two times before it was delivered to the room, to ensure it was of the highest quality. All because they didn't want him to get sick. And yet he was lying unconscious on the metal bench, pale skin with a greenish hue on his cheeks, and dark half-moons under his eyes. If she were to touch him, she would feel how warm he was, as if he had a high fever.

Lucy heard the automatic doors opening, and she diverted her attention towards the sound. The one that entered was a man she had started to hate above all else. A man named Dr. Warren Vidic. She couldn't help but also blame him for Desmond being comatose. After all, he was often complaining that his time in the Animus were too short. "Miss Stillman, have you gotten any luck with figuring out where Mr. Miles are located on the timeline?" he asked sternly, and she shook her head as a response. He looked at her with great disappointment painted all over his face, and she braced herself for the rant he was about to spurt out.

"You have to get him out of there as soon as possible. Time is wasting. We have already lost two hours and fourty-five minutes worth of research, and that is a loss, miss Stillman. You need to find a way to wake him up. Until you have made any progress, the door will be locked and you will remain here. Use Mr. Miles' bed if you need, but I will rather see that you work on the Animus. You will reach out to me immediately if there is any progression". With that said, the scientist sighed heavily and left the room.

The blonde didn't have much else to choose from than agree and obey. She didn't want to admit it, but she missed the way Desmond asked her questions. He was too quiet when he was just lying in the Animus. Dr. Vidic was also a lot less irritated when he was up and walking. He liked progress and success, and greatly disliked when things didn't go according to plan. Desmond being in coma was not according to plan. Meaning Dr. Vidic was not amused. Not even the slightest bit.

Lucy swallowed a sigh and got back to the Animus' built-in display. Seemingly endless rows of data rolled on the screen, and she inspected it thoroughly in case she had missed something. When she didn't find anything, she switched tab to search for different dates and places. She crosschecked various scenarios in Desmond's genetic memory, but found nothing of interest. She switched tab again and again. Scrolled through pages of text, numerous e-mails and a whole bunch of activity reports from the last few weeks. On and on, back and forth, up and down. After two hours, her eyelids had grown heavy, and she yawned repeatedly. Deciding it was enough for one day, she sent an e-mail to Dr. Vidic, explaining her founds, which wasn't much, and then ended with a goodnight. He would probably be furious over _'her inability to search thoroughly'_ , and tell her to work harder, but she didn't really care right now. She was exhausted and just wanted some well deserved sleep.

 _ **To be continued...**_


End file.
